


Broken's Okay

by aTasteofCaramell



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coming to grips with reality, F/M, Hope, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Needs a Hug, sad Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve stood for a long time on the unfamiliar street corner with his arms loose at his sides, dressed in civilian clothing, a backpack on his shoulders.  He was trying to get used to this strange, hurt emptiness inside.<br/>Because he hadn’t expected her to be different.<br/>------<br/>It’s strange trying to find closure about the death of someone who isn’t dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken's Okay

Steve stood for a long time on the unfamiliar street corner with his arms loose at his sides, dressed in civilian clothing, a backpack on his shoulders. He watched the cars pass in front of him without seeing them. People passed him by too, without seeing him. That was okay, because he didn’t notice them either. He was trying to get used to this strange, hurt emptiness inside.

Because he hadn’t expected her to be different.

_“Steve,” She pulled him in and wrapped one arm around his neck in a pleasant, friendly hug. “It’s so good to see you.”_

Changed, of course, but not different. Not unrecognizable. Steve licked his lips and looked around him, the buzz of voices and the shuffling of footsteps registering on his ears once more. He pulled his cap down further. The sun was bright today, maddeningly cheerful and hot. England was supposed to be rainy, wasn’t it?

_The room smelled dusty and looked spotless. Light streamed in from a window, illuminating thin red carpet, and a tiny yellow bird blinked little black eyes at him from its cage in the corner._

Of course, why shouldn’t it have changed? Why shouldn’t the environment have morphed so much that England was now the perfect tropical getaway?

_What to say? What was appropriate? He wasn’t able to decide before the automatic name slid from his mouth. “Hi, Peggy.”_

Steve started down the street again, too absorbed to notice he was going the wrong way to get back to his hotel. By the time he realized his feet were taking him towards the airport, he didn’t bother turning around. The necessities were in the backpack already anyway.

_They talked. She made him give excessive details about his life now, his job at SHIELD, his maybe-sort-of new friends that joined the Avengers Initiative. He asked, awkwardly, about hers. She showed him photo albums. They had tea._

Steve stood at the counter and bought a ticket with his SHIELD-issued credit card. It was last minute, and expensive, but they made an exception for him when he reluctantly showed his ID and credentials.

Deciding to come here made perfect sense at the time. He’d known she was alive, and he’d known she would be different. But it was wrong to not go and see her. If for nothing else than friendship. He didn’t know how much time he had, and he knew he’d regret it if he never went to see her. No matter how strange and awkward, it would be nice to see her again. And he thought it would bring closure.

_His throat stayed dry through their whole visit, because, looking at her, an extremely elderly woman in a nursing home, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had been a year and a half since he’d last seen her and it had been over seventy years since she had seen him._

It didn’t.

_She wasn’t the same person, at all. It had been too soon. Steve remembered Peggy too clearly, and this wasn’t her. This was Peggy Johns. He didn’t grudge her for it; after all, Peggy Johns couldn’t help being Peggy Johns. He didn’t grudge Peggy for it either, because she had a right to move on with her life. By the time she’d gotten married, in her thirties, Peggy didn’t exist anymore anyway._

Steve moved through security quickly and got on the plane, ignoring the urgings of a flight attendant who recognized him and sat in third class, next to the engine, staring out the smeared window.

_Peggy Johns was wise, and she’d seen much. Almost a century’s worth. She had three daughters, one son, five grandchildren, and sixteen great grandchildren. They talked for a long time, and Peggy Johns told him all about what she’d seen, and he kept asking._

The plane took off, and Steve put in the earplugs, leaning his head back.

_“Thank you for coming, Steve.”_

ɤ

He woke up in the middle of the night. The lights were dimmed, and most of the passengers slept. Rolling his neck with a sigh, he removed the plugs from his ears and pulled the backpack out from under the seat in front of him. He took out the overpriced water bottle and granola bar he’d purchased at the gate area and ate. Then he remembered he’d forgotten to turn off his cell phone. Darn it.

He glanced around for the flight attendant, then hunched down as he pulled it out of the side pocket of the backpack and flipped it open, shielding the light with his hand. How did you turn this thing off again? He pushed several buttons with unfamiliar symbols and the phone let out a happy, startlingly loud _ding!_

Steve cursed his months of moping after waking up, cursed the fact that he’d had the excuse to mope, cursed Hydra and Schmidt for the thousandth time, cursed SHIELD, cursed ice, cursed time itself.

His fingers tightened around the phone, and the screen let out a buzz and blanked out.

Steve cursed the frailty of technology and tossed the dead cell phone back into the backpack. SHIELD was going to be ticked about the phone. Actually, SHIELD was going to be ticked anyway, as he hadn’t even checked out of his hotel room or contacted anybody before leaving. Sure, Fury had basically told him to disappear while the government got over fuming about the recklessness of the Avengers Initiative, but that probably didn’t include this utter carelessness.

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. He crinkled the wrapper of the granola bar in his hand and, for lack of a don’t-disturb-the-flight-attendants-by-asking-them-to-take-my-trash option, he put it back in his backpack. Then he decided this would be a good time to actually check and see exactly what it was he’d left at the hotel.

This irresponsibility was uncharacteristic. It felt strange and uncomfortable. He felt frozen again, on the inside, and unable to think straight.

He cursed Erksine for choosing him for this project.  What had the doctor been thinking?

‘Skinny kid, nothing to lose, let’s see how powerful this serum actually is. Plus, he’s a nice kid, and so patriotic he’ll throw himself in full-force no matter what happens, and if it works he’ll be thrilled to become his nation’s hero, and the nation will be thrilled to have such a nice guy as their super-soldier.’

Something along those lines, anyway.

One hotel housekeeping employee was about to get the tip of her life. It looked like he’d left most of his clothes, the SHIELD laptop that he’d never turned on, and maybe even a few hundred dollar bills on the bed. He couldn’t’ remember if he’d put them back in the wallet or not, and he didn’t take it out of his pocket to check. The backpack contained one change of underwear, an extra t-shirt, a jacket, additional water and granola bars, a folder of numbers, factsheets, cultural reference explanations, instructions for navigating England’s streets, and Steve’s own survival notes. And the dead cell phone. And an envelope.

Steve blinked, fingering the corner of the envelope, trying to remember what it contained. His memory failed him and he pulled it out, with a little stagger of his heart when he saw _Steve_ written across it in fluid cursive.

Most people couldn’t even write in cursive anymore.

Steve already knew who it was from. It could only be one person. He grimaced, debating throwing it away unopened. No offense to Peggy Johns, but he just couldn’t—what was the point? She was nice and everything, but she wasn’t _Peggy_ and it was just weird listening to and talking with someone who reminded him of her.

His conscience pricked him, as did his curiosity, and he held in a sigh as he slid a thumb underneath the flap and opened it. He pulled out a folded sheet of yellow, crackling paper, and a smaller, white, clean note fell out of it and landed on his lap. He picked it up first.

**_I know you’re tired of hearing from me, so I’ll be brief. This is a letter I wrote to you sixty-nine years ago, untouched, unmodified, and still as true as the day it was written. The only thing new is the last few lines, which I hope you will pay great heed to._ **

**_Peggy Johns_ **

Steve blinked, and his chest and throat tightened. He glanced around at the quiet cabin, then hunkered down in his seat and unfolded the paper, holding it at an angle so that enough light from the dim yellow bulb above his seat hit the words.

_Dear Steve,_

_There’s only one thing I regret. I look back now and I can see so much that I wasn’t sure of then. You’re too good for your own good. I didn’t tell you then, because I didn’t see it, and I wish now so badly that I had._

_Dr. Erksine chose you for a reason, Steve. He saw something in you that none of the rest of us did. I saw a glimpse of it, sometimes, but not enough to make me understand. Just enough to make me curious. It’s taken me a long time to finally be able to put into words what it is that separates you. Separated._

_Please forgive the spots on the paper. I’m crying, and I shouldn’t be apologizing to you because you are never going to see this._

_In any case, I have finally figured it out. You have a servant’s heart, Steve. That was why you wanted to join the army so badly; it wasn’t for glory, or for strength, to defeat monsters, for self-discovery, for the starry-eyed dreams that boys have of war and battles. War is bloody and gritty and there is no honour in it. There is no honour in killing. But that isn’t what gives a soldier honour. It’s service. Most soldiers want to serve, but there was something else different about you. Where others merely wanted to serve, you had the heart of a servant. As a skinny asthmatic who wasn’t even qualified to serve, you didn’t see yourself as a servant worth having, but you couldn’t take no for an answer because you couldn’t stand it. So you forced yourself in, not because you thought you could make it, but because you couldn’t bear to not try and keep trying._

_That’s why Dr. Erksine chose you. Because even when you don’t feel yourself worthy or capable, you push forward with all you can simply because you must. Because you have to do everything you can to save those around you, even when you don’t think it’s going to do them any good; even when you believe you’ll be needlessly killing yourself in the process._

_And that’s what I regret not telling you. You can do so much and you don’t realize it. Didn’t. Even when you sacrificed yourself you didn’t think it was enough. The serum didn’t make you worth anything: it simply gave you the ability to put your own gifts into practice. The serum was a gift, and nothing else._

_I miss you, Steve. I wish you to know you make me strive to be better. Thank you for knowing me, for a little while._

_~Peggy_

**_Do not think for an instant that driving the ship into the ice was a curse or a mistake. I can’t imagine how hard it is on you, but think. You defended the world when she needed you most in 1940, and you defended the world when she needed you most in 2012. Whatever is regretful, whatever is frustrating and heartbreaking, being reborn in the modern world is allowing you to be in the right place at the right time: when she needs you most._ **

“Sir, I’m sorry for intruding, but are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

Steve swallowed, little tremors running through his shoulders, and unable to stop the shaky breathes that accompanied the thin streaks of wetness on his skin.

“Um,” he cleared his throat, voice husky. He sheepishly touched his temple, trying to casually shield his damp face with his hand. “A Kleenex would be great, if you have one.”

“One moment.” The stewardess hurried away and hurried back, a small traveling pack in her hand.

“Thanks.” Steve picked open the tab and pulled out a tissue. He rubbed the tears from his face and blew his nose.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” Steve looked up at her and tried to smile. “Really. Thanks.”

“All right,” She nodded, forehead creased. “Call me if you need anything.” She walked back up the aisle of the plane. Steve folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope, adding it to his ‘survival’ file. Then he leaned back in his seat and looked out of the dark window, pressing the tissue underneath his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he repeated to himself. Not because he was, but because for the first time in the modern world, he believed it might one day become true.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hanging onto this one for just such a dry-period. :) Life's been crazy, but I'll try to get back to posting regularly. I have several half-formed plot bunnies in my head. Just got to figure them out.


End file.
